


Back 2U

by mjs0515



Category: 2PM (Band)
Genre: M/M, Nameless Characters, free-shipping??, idk what to call this fic, ship anyone you want to ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 11:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6468634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjs0515/pseuds/mjs0515
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I love you for you and you love me for me, but that’s also the reason why we can’t be together like we want to be."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back 2U

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chan_to_the_ho (soriniath)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=chan_to_the_ho+%28soriniath%29).



> I haven't written any name here, so you can imagine any ship you want. Gotta warn you though, this may or may not have a Channuneo vibe, since everything written here stemmed from a dream where they were on one of their concert stages, alone, dancing to this song.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~Also imagined during the creation of this fic was TaecWoo idek don't ask me why, they're not even my ship~~

You’re standing at the center of the room, the whole place dark except for the single light illuminating your silhouette. Your hand is outstretched towards me, reaching out yet patiently waiting for me to take. We’re all alone, our brothers having planned this and left us (“Fix that, whatever’s been ruining you both,” they said) yet the silence crowds in on us and makes the air stifling and _damn it_ , I’m finding it hard to breathe.

I can see that you’re barefoot, just like me—susceptible (but not entirely helpless) to what we might step on along the way. My eyes continue their course up your thighs, your hips, your torso, until finally I draw my gaze up to your face, looking straight into your eyes. How have you been, love? It’s been a while, been a while since we talked and we touched—heck, since we even looked at each other, and I suddenly realize how much I’ve missed you.

The first notes of our song starts softly playing and I place my hand in yours, our fingers slotting perfectly together. You pull me across the room and I willingly go with you, even pushing back a little bit. Your intense gaze stay locked with mine all the while, its endless depth hypnotizing me. It’s telling me everything I’ve been wanting to hear for the past few days or months—I don’t even know anymore—telling me to forget our fights and trust you at least one more time.

And I do.

I let go of my inhibitions and start dancing with you.

 

I hold on to your waist as I drop to the floor before turning in your arms, your knuckles brushing my cheek. We’ve danced to this choreography before, so many times that the routine has been etched in my mind. Not together, though. Never together, especially not during shows or concerts or anywhere we can be seen. We’re used to dancing to our roles with each of us having our respective partners, yet even then my eyes would always secretly gravitate towards yours and yours to mine. That’s why I bet it wouldn’t be too difficult for us to improvise on the steps tonight. We’ve always complemented each other, you and I, you see. Always perfect together even from the start.

_So what happened to us now?_

We fell into a ditch, baby, and we’re finding it hard to get out of it just because our pride was getting in the way.

 

We dance around each other, so close yet so far—reminiscent of how we’ve been dancing in circles lately, avoiding the other instead of talking it out. And where did that lead us? Nowhere but more heartache. We let our insecurities tear us apart, and I’ve been spending lonely nights away from your loving warmth, tossing and turning on that cold, big bed. But now, now that you’re in front of me, I begin to think, have I really been arguing with you or am I simply fighting against myself?

Earlier you asked me to trust you. It’s funny because I _do_ trust you with my whole heart and all of my soul. It’s actually me I’m questioning, if I am ready to deal with this, if _I_ am worthy of _your_ trust. Lately it doesn’t seem like we know each other at all, and I’m not so sure anymore if we still have the same goals and aspirations, and if I still affect the same way you affect me.

 

I get my answer as we continue moving wordlessly, the way our hands and feet and bodies shift in sync more than enough to convey our feelings so much better than words ever can. With eyes only for each other, our fingers are always reaching for some skin to graze, to hold, to stroke, each light touch teasing and electrifying. And the moment feels intimate more than we’ve ever been, making me want to bottle this memory up to treasure forever.

The light is directly in my vision, but it’s not what’s blinding me, no. There’s the sight of you so passionately engrossed in this dance of ours, your eyes closed and head tilted back to reveal the lines of your throat, and I swear to _god_ it’s so breathtaking and it makes my knees go weak and I almost forget the next few steps.

I vaguely notice you tugging on my shirt and removing it gently. Your hands brush up my arms leaving goosebumps in their wake, and the shiver that runs down my spine breaks me out of my trance. You whisper the lyrics in my ear, the air between and around us vibrating for reasons more than the deep rumble of your voice, causing yet another shiver to run through me. 

The shirt you’re wearing is one of my favourites—it was the one you wore during our last anniversary dinner, and I almost think that it’s a pity as I fist it, bunching it up in my hands before pulling apart in opposite directions. I hear the buttons pop, flying, scattering, rolling on the floor around us but my mind pays them no heed. We take it even further with me pushing the useless fabric off you, and I am mesmerized at the beauty of the pale canvas in front of me. I drag my palms along the planes of your chest, my blunt nails leaving red marks on it and I hear your breath hitch before you suddenly grip my waist and turn me around again.

I can feel your chest, warm and strong and inviting me to lean back into it. You support both our weights (like how you’ve been doing through this whole ordeal), and we roll our hips together, our bodies moving fluidly, sensually. With your arms still wrapped around me you place your forehead against mine, eyes closed but soul bared open and vulnerable. We roll, chest to back and hip to hip and thigh to thigh. I can feel every inch of you against me, feel every breath we exchange through parted lips that are almost touching. We roll, and you continue to caress my torso, the tips of your fingers tracing invisible patters as if you’re reading braille and spreading this steamy wetness even more. I bring one hand up to your face while the other threads through your soft hair and lazily draws circles on your scalp. You kiss the inside of my wrist and we get lost in the music, get lost in each other. We roll.

 

The song has long since ended, and all that’s left to be heard are the pants escaping our mouths. Your pupils are blown to hell and I know I look intoxicated just as much—drunk and high from this heat that’s swallowing us whole and spreading through the room like wildfire. My head is throbbing, my heart is pounding, my throat is all choked up. You start to say, “I’m sor-”

\- but then I cut you off at that. “I know.”

“I lov-”

“I know.” _Yet I can’t bear to hear you say it now._

“But we can’t.”

“I know…” I repeat for the third time, softer now. _I know but it hurts; it hurts but I know._ It’s bittersweet, but then in this relationship, what isn’t?

It’s been a while, been a while since I started thinking about things, about us. Admittedly I loved the thrill at first, the secrecy and the late-night escapades and under-the-table shenanigans, but it’s been years since I first fell for you and I’ve grown tired of all the hiding, the lies and pretenses that we _have to_ keep and I just want- I _want_ to proclaim to the world how much you mean to me. (You’re right, though. We can’t. I love you for you and you love me for me, but that’s also the reason why we can’t be together like we want to be.)

 

Your hand is outstretched again, beckoning for me to take once more, your eyes pleading and shining with tears that have yet to fall. I want to take it—I _was_ going to take it, but I hesitate and my hand stops midway. I can see yours start to shake but don’t worry, love, my whole body is quivering too, pulled apart to opposing corners by decisions and wavering along with the resolve that I thought was already stable.

I’ve contemplated a lot, argued with myself if this is still right. If _we_ are still worth it. And to be honest, there have been times where I just want to take the easier route and end it. End _us_.

Can I do it?

After all these years, will I be able to take it?

Give in to love or give up on it?

Tell me, should I stay or should I let you go?

 

 

 

“I love you I love you I love you _so damn much_ ,” you manage to chant with stuttered breaths later as we get lost in the throes of our passion. This time I don’t stop you from saying those words. Your mouth moves in time with mine, mumbling promises we know we can never keep yet still hope to fulfill. Above our heads I clasp my hand with yours in answer, holding onto it tightly and never letting go.

Because let’s face it—no matter what we go through, my heart will always, _always_ , go back to you.


End file.
